Another Pegasus Birthday
by shepsgirl72
Summary: 'Today was Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard's birthday, and he was finally beginning to see a pattern forming.' Sheppard celebrates his 40th birthday - Pegasus style. Shep Whump!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc, no infringement of any rights is intended. Besides, there's no point in suing me as I couldn't scrape two pennies together right now!

**Spoilers:** Possible spoilers for various episodes from Season 1 through to 'Miller's Crossing' in Season 4.

**Warnings: **Nothing too bad, Sheppard just gets roughed up a bit. No surprises there, then!

Many thanks to **Sterenyk Strey** for her beta, sorting out my Britishisms and giving me some useful suggestions. All remaining mistakes are mine.

This story is somewhat lighter than my usual stuff, and popped into my head following a rather rubbish birthday of my own. If I have a bad birthday, so does Shep! I must also give credit to Bruce Parry's "The Tribe" series, which gave me the inspiration for the whump in this tale.

The story is 5 chapters in total, all complete except for tweaking, so should be posted regularly.

**Another Pegasus Birthday **

**Chapter 1 **

Today was Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard's birthday, and he was finally beginning to see a pattern forming. Last year, he'd spent his birthday dodging crazed colleagues, hallucinating that he was back in Afghanistan with Holland, and shooting most of his friends. The year before that, he'd been trying to persuade the crew of the Aurora to give him the information they carried that might help them defeat the Wraith...and had almost been blown up with the ship because he'd cut it so fine. And on his first year in the Pegasus Galaxy, he'd spent his birthday caught up in a battle with the Wraith while trying to win over the Genii to become their allies, an operation that had gone horribly wrong by anyone's standards. He never made a fuss on his birthday. A birthday when serving on the frontline was the same as any other day; he was just happy to make it through another year.

So, he supposed the fact he was spending this year's birthday, his fortieth no less, suspended by his wrists above a steaming, broiling lake should have come as little to no surprise really. He'd been hanging there for over two hours now – that had been the last measurement of time he'd taken while still strong enough to manoeuvre himself into a position where he could sneak a look at his watch. Right now, his arms felt like they were about to pop clean out of their sockets. Waiting for rescue wasn't an option on this occasion. His team were incapacitated and they weren't scheduled to head back to Atlantis until much later that evening having been invited to stay and share in a feast to celebrate the successful trade deal they had just brokered with the indigenous peoples of Bratala. He got the feeling he didn't have several hours left. His fate would be decided a long time before that deadline passed.

Dropping his head forward, he once again felt a dizzying blast of stifling heat hit him in the face, stealing away what little breath he'd managed to suck in. With steam filling his lungs and his head sagging, he felt as if air was far too sparse now, and his mind grew woollier by the moment. How the hell had a supposed celebration turned so sour? He knew the answer to that. Pegasus had its very own version of Murphy's Law, a far more malicious version as he had learned to his cost in the past, and today it had jumped up to bite him on the ass yet again.

At first, when he'd realised what the Bratalans were about to do to him, he'd tried his best to convince them that his genuine mistake had all been entirely innocent, that he'd intended no harm and no insult. They'd tied him up and swung him out over the water anyway, so when his lungs had begun to ache and his vision swim, he'd decided to conserve what little breath he had to keep himself conscious for as long as possible. Now, with his hands numb and pale and his wrists feeling as if they might snap under the strain, he had to wonder if that had been the right decision. He should have kept talking until he made them understand, or until they'd cut the rope just to shut him the hell up. Even that seemed the better option right at this moment.

This gruesome situation had arisen, as they often did, from the most innocuous of circumstances. Bratala was a planet rich in naquadah, a mineral which had absolutely no use for them, but which could be endlessly useful to the inhabitants of Atlantis while they continued to search for their ever elusive ZPMs. In exchange for rights to mine the naquadah, they had offered medicines, something the Bratalans had found most acceptable since disease was rife among their peoples, diseases that in developed countries on Earth were now all but extinct.

They'd set out from Atlantis at 2200 hours the previous day, because that was morning on Bratala. Having shared a promising meeting with the chief of this particular tribe, a hulking great figure of a man who rivalled Ronon in size, the team had been introduced to his family. Untooka had two wives and five children, four sons all verging on adulthood, and a daughter of around eleven years. She looked anxious about their presence there, so Sheppard had done what he considered the decent thing and engaged her in soothing conversation, assuring her that they were peaceful explorers, and that their peoples were going to be great friends. Then, he'd laid a hand on her shoulder and complimented her on the pretty dress she was wearing...

And that was where it had all gone horribly wrong.

He wished he'd considered how alien some Pegasus Galaxy cultures were compared to those on Earth before deciding to employ his charm to win the girl's confidence. But how was he to know no single male was allowed to set hand on the chief's daughter unless they were betrothed to her? Atlantis should have armed him with some kind of manual...like a Hitchhikers Guide...so they could travel to these planets forewarned and forearmed. Of course, the words 'Don't Panic' were particularly pertinent right now, too, although he was way past panicking at this point. Panicking required a level of energy he just didn't possess any more. He'd opted for quiet contemplation and that would have to do. Hopefully the locals would take it for stoicism and release him out of sheer admiration for his mettle.

Somewhere in a distant corner of his failing consciousness, Sheppard heard Rodney screaming about the insanity of this treatment. The colonel wanted to shout over to him, tell him to save his efforts because he suspected the decision of whether he lived or died lay outside of their control, but he couldn't even find the will to do that. After several hours of hanging in that heat, he was sure not only his lungs but his clothes were beginning to shrink. They clung to him like a second skin with the mixture of humidity and sweat, and great streaks of moisture scorched their way down his face and dripped from his chin. If he wasn't so damned stubborn he would have passed out a long time ago, but no, his determination to ensure his friends were unharmed meant he had to stake awake. Well, his shrinking attire would cut off the circulation to his brain soon, and then the choice to stay conscious wouldn't be his to make any more.

His mind drifted back to his mistake, to the way the girl's eyes had widened in fear as if she knew just what that touch would cost him. He hadn't had a chance to even ask her what was wrong before his legs were kicked out from under him and two huge warriors had stamped him into the dirt. Ronon, of course, had waded in, and now his friends sat restrained near the water, looking damp and dishevelled in the steam and doing their best to persuade the locals to let him go.

Voices broke through Sheppard's confusion, and he forced his reluctant eyelids open against the heat to watch the chief approach. _This is it,_ he thought. _Time for my bath!_

The man strode purposefully to the edge of the pool, his four sons only one pace behind him. Their faces were frozen into grim masks of sobriety – that didn't bode well. He supposed forty was a pretty good age to reach for a military man who had seen more than his fair share of action. By all rights, he should have been dead a dozen times over before today.

'Akala accepts,' the chief told him. It meant nothing to him, but his parched mouth wouldn't form the query.

'Accepts what?' Rodney demanded, asking the question Sheppard had been trying to voice but his brain had been too befuddled to complete.

'His proposal.'

'That's the proposal that we be trade partners, right?' McKay ventured with more than a hint of hope in his tone.

'His proposal of marriage.'

_Oh, yeah. Like I ever want to head down that road again!_

Sheppard wondered if his own eyes were as wide as Rodney's as he gaped back at the chief. Probably not; they were too shrivelled by the humidity to assume that saucer-like size. Whether it was the irony or the lack of oxygen that got to him, Sheppard wasn't sure, but he snorted out a laugh all the same.

Rodney shot him a look caught somewhere between despair and anger. Sheppard knew just what he was thinking – that only he could propose marriage to a child without even saying a word. Teyla stepped in to try to smooth things over.

'I'm sorry, Chief Untooka, but there appears to have been a...a misunderstanding between us. Colonel Sheppard did not intend to propose marriage. It is not the way among his people to take a partner who is so...young.'

The chief's eyes turned to the dangling colonel, burning into him. Sheppard gave the man a sheepish smile and hoped he wasn't about to cut the rope.

'But he touched her.'

'Her shoulder, yeah!' Rodney blurted out. 'He was just being friendly.'

'If any unattached man touches an unmarried daughter of the chief, it is considered a proposal. If she accepts, he lives.'

'Yes...we've been over this. He made a mistake. She can't accept his proposal because he never made one.'

Teyla elbowed Rodney in the ribs quite sharply for someone whose hands were tied behind her back. 'We see how this...confusion has arisen, but you must understand that this was just a...a cultural difference between two differing tribes. In our world, such contact is commonplace. No offence or proposal was intended.'

'He is rescinding his proposal?' the chief asked.

'How can he rescind it? He never made it!' McKay spat, and Sheppard could practically hear the eye-roll that followed his assertion even though he couldn't focus any more.

'What he said,' he slurred, swinging a little as he looked from one to the other of them.

The chief paused for a beat, then announced, 'If that is so, his life is forfeit – cut the rope.'

'Wait!' Teyla shouted, making them all start. She looked around at them all and smiled that calm, soothing smile she somehow always managed to find, even when everyone else was crapping themselves. 'I am sure there is some way we can reach an amicable agreement here...perhaps we could delay the wedding until the colonel's principles allow him to proceed with the match.'

'Teyla...' the colonel protested.

Teyla flicked her gaze Sheppard's way, giving him a "trust me" look. She was usually pretty good at talking them out of tricky situations, and not averse to lying if it saved face for either themselves or other injured parties, so he decided he would leave it in her hands. Talking of hands, were his still attached because he really couldn't feel them any more?

Closing his eyes, Sheppard waited for the chief's decision. If it wasn't agreeable, things were about to get uncomfortably hot, and much as he tried to convince himself it wasn't such a bad way to go, he wasn't buying it for a second. He'd always thought cooking lobsters alive was a cruel and undeserved end for an innocent creature; he was about to find out just how accurate that assessment was.

'That is...acceptable,' the chief proclaimed in his theatrically loud voice so all those gathered round about could hear. Now things were finally looking up. All they had to do was spend a little time negotiating the terms of the marriage, then he could go back to Atlantis, plead temporary insanity due to brain shrinkage, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

Almost immediately, Sheppard felt himself being hauled back toward the shore, strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him back onto land. His legs decided to go all "Scarecrow" from the Wizard of Oz on him, and he crumpled to the ground as soon as the ropes were released and their grip on him relinquished. Dirt had never tasted so good.

His vision now blurring, he felt himself being rolled onto his back and the faces of his friends appeared over him.

* * *

'John, are you all right?' Teyla asked, laying her cool palm across his forehead.

He was about to answer when his shrunken brain finally called time and wrapped him in a thick blanket of comfortable darkness...

'...has to be five years at least, preferably more.'

Teyla's voice had been the last thing he'd heard as he'd passed out, and was now the first thing to filter through as he woke again. Sheppard blinked a few times, realising he'd been moved inside a hut while unconscious, the woven walls undulating as he pulled his surroundings into focus.

'Women of our tribe never marry so late. One at most,' the chief insisted.

It suddenly occurred to the colonel what exactly they were negotiating, and he figured he should be entitled to a say in things. 'She's eleven, right? Do you have any idea how old I am?' he asked, lifting his head from Teyla's lap, where she had been holding a cold compress to his forehead.

'Your age is of no concern. Akala has accepted. She thinks a warrior such as yourself would be a good match, and it will solidify the alliance between our peoples.'

Unable to comprehend how a father could be so blasé about his child's future partner, Sheppard tried to push up, only for Teyla to restrain him. 'Perhaps we could meet somewhere in the middle. Three years?' she suggested, following it with that very same smile she'd been sporting earlier.

Sheppard was about to let her know what he thought of that, but she squeezed his shoulder and he remembered her earlier silent request that he trust her. He dropped his head back down and closed his eyes, but batted away the cloth since he was feeling cold now his sauna was over.

'Three years?' Untooka paused for dramatic effect. 'Very well.'

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the team. 'Now that we have that settled, we will return to our people to get Colonel Sheppard the treatment he needs,' Teyla told the chief. 'Ronon...help me lift him.'

Sheppard sensed the tension before he saw what was actually unfolding. He snapped his eyes open again to the sight of Untooka's two burly guardians blocking Ronon's route.

'What is this?' the Satedan demanded, not looking remotely intimidated.

'He cannot leave. He has to stay and be initiated into the tribe.'

Sheppard slapped his hand across his eyes. Apparently, Pegasus planned to make his fortieth a very special birthday in its own twisted way. He really had to get his hands on a guide very soon.

'Initiation doesn't sound so bad...right?' Rodney said brightly, squatting beside him. 'They ply you with drink, strip you and tie you to a tree to laugh at you for a while, and you'll be home and dry.'

Sheppard wasn't so sure; he'd seen enough documentaries about African tribes in his time to know the initiation might not be all that easy. 'They said "initiation" not "stag party", Rodney,' he pointed out.

'What do you mean by initiation?' Ronon asked. Clearly, he thought it sounded bad, too, because he looked like he was considering grabbing Sheppard and making a run for it.

Untooka's expression took on a look of reverence as he gazed at them all over the flames of the fire in his hut, speaking of traditions that had served their people for centuries. 'If a man is to aspire to marry the daughter of a chief, he must prove himself worthy and convert to her ways. John Sheppard will become a member of this tribe, or he will die in the trying.'

No doubt about it, this was now officially the worst birthday Pegasus had dealt him. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Sheppard ordered Ronon to stand down. Then, turning wearily to the tribal leader, he asked, 'What do I have to do?'

'You're not seriously thinking of going through with it? You don't even wanna be a member of this tribe,' Rodney squeaked, gaping at him.

'Doesn't sound like I have much of a choice,' he leaned toward his friend and whispered, 'unless you wanna try fighting your way out of here with no weapons?'

'No...no...you go ahead and do things your way. I'm sure we'll figure some way out of this mess...eventually.'

Sheppard swayed to his feet and Untooka did the same, the two men regarding each other in the orange light of the firelight burning in the chief's home. 'So, what do I have to do?' he asked again, straightening up now he knew his legs weren't about to betray him.

'It begins with the purging,' the chief told him, signalling to a woman standing a few paces behind him. She scurried away, and the chief beckoned for Sheppard and the team to follow him outside into the daylight.

They did so just as the young woman was returning, carrying a wooden bowl. Untooka took the bowl from her and approached Sheppard. 'You must drink this and cleanse yourself of the sins of your previous life. If you are to marry my daughter, you must be pure of heart. You must let your spirit guides help you unburden yourself...and to help you do that, you need to drink this.'

Again, Ronon pushed forward like a watchdog protecting its owner. 'What's in it?'

'Nothing that will do him any harm,' Untooka assured him. 'It is simply a drink that helps to open up the mind to the voices of those gone before.'

Sheppard understood what that meant. It seemed he was about to take the kind of trip he hadn't been on since he was a rebellious teenager doing whatever he could to make his old man mad. Oh, joy!

Gripping the bowl in his hands, Sheppard stared into its murky contents, took a deep breath, and downed the contents in one go. The liquid was bitter and almost made him gag as it hit the back of his tongue, but he swallowed it all and felt the burn as it coursed its way down to his stomach. There was no going back now.

McKay stared at him in utter horror. 'Sheppard! What are you doing? You have no idea what was in that bowl.'

'I have a fair idea,' he assured the scientist, feeling the effects begin to set in.

At first they seemed quite minor – a mild dizziness and a feeling of euphoria – but they quickly melted into the most gut churning nausea ever and he realised that drink was meant to purge him in more ways than one.

Moments later, he was rushing for the nearby bushes as his breakfast revisited. The vomiting was violent and thorough, and when he eventually stopped retching he was left achy and spent. He dropped to his knees, his team rushing to gather him up and Untooka instructed them to carry him to a hut where he could continue the purging process undisturbed.

Now only vaguely conscious of his situation, Sheppard offered no resistance as he felt himself being lifted from the ground and carried into a darker, cooler environment. The voices whispering around him sounded edgy and angry, but he couldn't define words or any clear sentiment, so let it slide. The sensation of something soft under his back as he was lowered from his uncomfortable perch on someone's shoulder was welcome but short-lived, as his mind succumbed to the drugs rampaging through his body and the strange dreams he knew would come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

'Colonel Sheppard...Colonel...wake up!'

Ford's voice cut through the haze fogging his brain and made him instantly snap to attention. 'Lieutenant?'

There, plain as the nose on his own face, was his lost team mate. 'Yeah, it's me,' the young man grinned. 'You were expecting someone else?'

Sheppard sat up and scrubbed at his hair, his body sticky and uncomfortable, but at least he didn't feel like he was about to puke any more. He was inside one of the huts, that much he recognised from the woven, reedy walls, but finding the young man he had supposed dead sitting cross-legged opposite him on the dirt floor and looking so well was pretty surprising.

'If I'm honest, I didn't expect to see you again. How did you get here?'

Ford quirked an eyebrow. 'Don't you remember?'

Sheppard had the sense there was something important going on he should recall, but recalling it was proving pretty elusive. 'Not really. Wanna enlighten me?'

'Spiritual purging. Releasing the burdens of your previous life. A marriage proposal – any of that ringing a bell, Sir?'

Oh, yeah. His unfortunate faux pas with Untooka's daughter and his dice with the skin-stripping hot tub. Now he was supposed to be clearing his conscience. For a moment he'd completely forgotten that. Now Ford's appearance there made sense. 'Oh crap! Yeah, it does now you come to mention it. So, aren't you going to say something...enlightening?'

Ford shrugged. 'Will it help? We both know you're not serious about going ahead with this marriage business anyway, so what's the point?'

'That's true.' Sheppard climbed to his feet and headed towards the entrance of the hut. 'So what say we bail, grab the others, and head back to Atlantis?'

He pulled back the door to reveal the hut was now surrounded by the same steamy water that had threatened to claim him earlier. He was pretty certain that hadn't been there before.

Ford arrived at his shoulder. 'No can do, Sir. I can't leave, and you have to stay here and face the demons from your past or it's back to the water for you. You have to pass the initiation or they're gonna dunk you, remember?'

That did sound familiar now he came to think about it. He closed the door, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. 'Okay...so...why don't you tell me what to do, Lieutenant?'

'Let go of your guilt, son. It's time to start afresh...a new life and all that.'

When he turned, he found Carson's kind blue eyes staring back at him. 'C...Carson...how did you...? Where'd Ford go?'

'Oh, he's still here, lad. They're all here somewhere.'

Sheppard looked around at the shadowy and otherwise empty hut. 'All who?' he asked, squinting with suspicion at his new companion.

'All the people who still haunt you. Every time you feel you've let someone down or you've been affected by someone else in a way you have trouble forgetting, a part of their spirit gets entangled with yours, weighing you down. You have to let us all go, lad.'

The colonel wasn't normally the type to make fun of other people's beliefs, but that sounded like a load of bull to him. He couldn't stop a smirk breaking out. 'Oh, c'mon, Carson. You really expect me to believe all that?'

'Aye, lad. I do. We're with you always, like the proverbial albatross hanging around your neck. Unless you find a way to come to terms with things you can't fix, there's no moving on.'

Running his fingers back through his hair, Sheppard clasped his hands behind his clammy neck and turned his gaze to the ceiling. 'But I'm not actually planning to become a part of this tribe and marry that kid, so I just have to ride it out until this "trip's" over, right?'

When he looked back at his friend, he found Carson smiling at him, a little sadly. 'Never were one to admit your weaknesses, were you, John? But you need to if you're ever going to move forward.'

Already treading in uncomfortable territory, Sheppard tried to deny Carson's reasoning for the visiting spirits. 'But I don't feel guilty about your death – sad yeah, but not guilty – so why are you here?'

Carson walked over to him and placed his hand on Sheppard's shoulders, staring deep into his eyes. 'Are you sure about that? So, it's never crossed your mind that if you'd agreed to go fishing with me that Sunday, I might still be alive?'

'Well...yeah,' he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck and realising for the first time that had been carrying that guilt every day since the loss of the good doctor.

'And all because you didn't take up my offer of a fishing trip. Do you know how many people I asked to go fishing with me that day, Colonel? You weren't alone in turning me down. I guess fishing just isn't exciting to most people...but then, it doesn't really measure up to fighting the Wraith, does it?'

Sheppard dropped his head and chuckled, 'No, they're not really comparable.' For some reason, the skin on the back of his neck prickled, and from the corner of his eye he saw a ghostly apparition flit from left to right. It reminded him of the first time he'd witnessed a culling, when he and Teyla had fled for their lives in the woods of Athos...

'Because killing Wraith is more your kind of sport, isn't it?'

The split pitches of the Wraith Keeper set every nerve in his body on edge, and he backed into the wall as her burgundy locks swept away into the darkness and he lost sight of her. The hut stretched away from him, taking on the sinuous look and cool, damp atmosphere of a Wraith vessel. No...he didn't want to be here...not again.

'Oh, crap!' he breathed, looking around for somewhere to conceal himself. Unfortunately, every time he ducked behind something, it melted away to reveal his position.

'Now, I know I don't feel guilty about killing you,' he whispered, his eyes scanning his ever darkening surroundings.

He heard her dress shifting in the shadows, a soft, throaty hiss issuing forth as she paced. 'Are you really so certain of that fact? You may not have any feelings about my death, but I am sure you feel great regret for the many thousands of lives the Wraith have claimed in the time since you awoke them.'

Her words hurt, making his stomach knot in excruciating agony. He did hold himself responsible for the current war, even if he had only acted in accordance with the belief instilled in him throughout his military career. _We don't leave our people behind._ Perhaps on that occasion he should have, but then he would have Teyla as a friend and the Wraith might well be on their way to Earth having extracted its location from Colonel Sumner. No. He'd made the right choice – the loss of thousands of lives here meant the safety of billions on his home planet.

'Yes, you did do the right thing, Sheppard. Yet you still second guess yourself about killing me every day.'

His spirit companions were switching form so rapidly he barely had time to come to terms with one before another made their presence felt. Now, Colonel Sumner, stood before him in the dining room where he'd lost his life, wizened and wasted just as The Keeper had left him when Sheppard had ended his torment.

'I...I just wish you could have given a clearer command,' Sheppard told him, swallowing down the lump of raw emotion the sight of his fallen commander caused in him.

'You know what you saw, Sheppard. Don't ever doubt that.' A thin, withered hand reached out and landed on his shoulder. Sheppard did his best not to flinch and curl his lip, despite his commanding officer's grotesque appearance. 'Killing me was the right thing to do. You know there was no other option.'

Sheppard nodded, dropping his gaze to his boots to hide his revulsion; though he looked like a corpse, this was still the man he had followed through the 'gate and who he respected for his grit. The Keeper might have tortured Sumner, but he'd never once begged for his life, an example Sheppard had followed ever since.

Suddenly, the grip on his shoulder tightened, the pressure there increasing to the point of being uncomfortable. When he looked up, he didn't see the pale, deathly eyes of Sumner, but the dark and unforgiving orbs of Acastus Kolya. 'But was killing me the right thing to do, Colonel Sheppard?' he asked, his gravelly voice making Sheppard's follicles tingle with memory.

'Damn right it was,' he hissed, his knees buckling under the increasing weight of his foe's hand. 'And I'd do it again if I had a gun!'

They were in that clearing in the town on M65-PL8 now, a bright, sunny day just like it had been when he'd shot Kolya down High Noon style.

'Then maybe it isn't my death that haunts you, but rather what I put you through. I took something from you, a naivety of what death at the hands of the Wraith truly felt like. Now, whenever you face them, that fear will weaken you.'

'I'm not weak!' Sheppard spat back, feeling the grind of his collar and shoulder bones under Kolya's tightening grip. 'And I'm not scared of them...or you.'

'Not scared? You should be, Johnny Boy, you should be. This whole galaxy is being culled because of you, and you know the Wraith will eventually find Earth, and it's all because you and your people think you know so much better than us "less developed" civilisations.'

Sheppard closed his eyes and gritted his teeth against the increasing pain. 'It's not my fault. I couldn't leave my people behind.'

'But you left me behind...and you've never forgiven yourself for that.'

It was only as he heard Elizabeth's words that he realised the pain in his shoulder was gone. He opened his eyes to see her smiling down at him in the Asuran corridor he'd abandoned her in, giving him that same crooked smirk she always wore when doling out friendly admonishment. 'I gave you an order, John. I absolve you of all blame.'

'I should have done more to help you...or maybe I just should have made sure McKay and Keller knew not to go ahead with activating those nanites in my absence.'

'Oh, that's right – I forgot you're responsible for everyone else's actions.' Her smile slipped and she held his gaze firmly. 'There was no other choice than to take me on that mission, John. Atlantis and everyone on it would be dead now if you hadn't agreed to take me. And I willingly sacrificed myself, remember. You are not to blame for what happened to me, or Ford or Carson or Colonel Sumner. We're fighting a war, John. You can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs.'

'You make it sound like food fight.'

'Well, since the Wraith see us all as a potential meal, I suppose it is in a way.'

He shook his head. 'I screwed up. I should have seen what was coming when Rodney said you'd headed off the jumper...'

'This...attitude of yours has to have a name,' Elizabeth mused, turning to the figure that had now appeared behind her. It was Kate Heightmeyer, lying in her bed in a rather distracting black negligee.

'Yes. In its simplest terms it would be known as a guilt complex, and is often triggered by a traumatic event in a sufferers childhood that they felt they should have prevented or perhaps caused to happen in some way.'

Really? Was she honestly going to psychoanalyse him while draped in little more than black satin and lace? He'd thought she would finally give up trying to help him now she was dead, but here she was, picking him apart along with another possibly dead colleague. This was worse than being married.

'You blame yourself for my demise. But the alien entity only imprinted on you physically; it was in no way an extension of you...other than perhaps representing some type of dark reflection.'

'Poetic,' he quipped.

The smirk returned to Elizabeth's face, and she quirked an eyebrow as she looked down on him. 'Are you planning to stay kneeling down there, because I'm pretty sure that floor could do with a scrub if you are?'

He climbed back to his feet, rotating his shoulder to test it for injury. 'So, is this nearly over now? I mean, you two are pretty much the last people I lost and feel responsible for.'

When he straightened, he found himself face to face with Henry Wallace. That had only been a week ago. How could he have forgotten him so readily? His heart skipped and his stomach plummeted. Oh, crap. He'd really never imagined he would have to face that man again.

'Really? Or am I the last person?' Wallace asked, his eyes still reflecting the sorrow Sheppard had seen in them as he'd escorted him to his death.

'I...I'm sorry...I never asked you to...'

'No...but you didn't try to persuade me not to, either? How did you put it? You just "presented the situation". Not that I blame you. You were looking out for your friends, just like you always do.'

Sheppard really had nothing to say to that; he'd wanted the guy to make the ultimate sacrifice, so he'd let him do it without so much as an "Are you sure about this?". The man had caused the situation to arise – it was Wallace's fault Jeanie was going to be wiped clean by nanites...so, an eye for an eye...that had been his thinking. Wallace had already lost his daughter, but there had still been a chance to get Jeanie back to Madison and Kaleb. Of course, when he allowed himself to look at things from Henry Wallace's point of view, Sheppard knew he wasn't a bad man, just a father desperate to save his child. A man who showed more care and protection of his child than the chief of the tribe he was currently being initiated into had. And for that, he'd condemned him. What kind of a hypocrite did that make him? Sometimes he, John Sheppard, was an asshole. Period.

'Now that's your father talking and you know it.'

No. How had Wallace morphed into his mother without him even noticing? Because he'd been too wrapped up in his own self pity, that was how.

He looked into her gentle face, her soft raven curls framing the features he could barely remember now without looking at photographs to remind himself. He'd been so young when she died, only seven years old, but he still missed her like crazy. And now he was in his childhood bedroom, exactly where he'd been when his father had broken the news of her death. She reached out and stroked away the strands of his hair sticking to his sweat-dampened forehead. 'Look at you. You've grown into quite the man, John,' she said, her smile broadening into a grin as tears of pride glistened in her green eyes. 'Don't ever doubt yourself. You're a good man, and you have to know that, whatever you do, you always do the best you possible can for those you care about.'

'Is that okay when it hurts others, though?' he asked, feeling his own eyes moisten.

'You can't save everyone, John. Sometimes things are just meant to be.'

'No! I won't accept that. I don't believe in destiny. We make our own paths through life. I should have been able to save the people I cared about – maybe if I'd been smarter or stronger...'

'So you blame yourself for my death? You weren't even there, John.'

He looked at her now, feeling the first tear escape the confines of his lids and slip down his cheek. 'I know...and I should have been.'

'So you could save me? You're good, but you're not that good.' She took hold of his hand and grasped it between both of hers. She felt warm, solid, tangible, and he wanted to keep hold of her so she couldn't leave him again. 'It was my time to go...it had to happen for you to become the man you are now. And I'm so proud of you, John. You must always remember that.'

She began to fade, as did the room, and he grasped even harder onto her warm hand. 'Don't go...not yet!'

'Oh, I almost forgot...Happy Birthday, John,' she smiled, stroking his cheek. 'And don't worry...I'm never far away.'

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. Hopefully it will continue to entertain you. Keep 'em coming! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

As Sheppard blinked his eyes open to the real darkness of the hut, he could still feel a hand holding his. Could it really be...? When he focused, it wasn't his mother's face he saw, but Teyla's worried expression, upside down, too, just to add to the confusion. It took a moment or two for him to realise he was lying down with his head resting on her knees, then it all made sense.

'John...are you all right?' she asked, stroking his hair back from his forehead.

'That was...weird!' he replied, pushing up and clutching his head as the hut began a slow swaying dance around him. His stomach lurched, but he refused to go with its demand to vent again.

A few of the natives were also gathered in the hut, holding burning torches to give some basic illumination. Sheppard looked down at his torso to find he had been decorated while unconscious, his chest now bare and covered in various painted designs. 'Oh, hey. Did I get a makeover?'

'It is all part of the ceremony,' Teyla explained. 'It is meant to give you...spiritual protection.' He could see from the intensity of her gaze that she was silently begging him not to make fun of it, and he figured that was good advice. These people clearly took their traditions very seriously; it wouldn't do to undermine them when his life was still in the balance.

'I think I already have enough of that,' Sheppard told her, struggling up to his feet now and feeling Ronon's steadying arm propping him up vertical. Though he suspected the whole purging experience had been nothing more than a drug-fuelled hallucination, it had still left him feeling a little unsettled. So much for releasing his burden.

'So...did you see any spirits?' McKay asked him, amusement lighting his eyes. It seemed he thought the whole thing was hokum, too, but that was the way Rodney viewed anything beyond his comprehension, so his cynicism was hardly surprising. Teyla shot him the same look she had given Sheppard, and the scientist stopped smiling, assuming a suitably contrite pout instead.

'He must not speak of what he saw,' one of the tribeswomen told him, stepping in to prevent Sheppard giving a reply. 'The journey he undertook is a private one, never to be shared.'

'Huh...convenient,' McKay muttered, folding his arms and glaring at her. Thankfully, that was as far as he took it.

Untooka entered the hut then, giving Sheppard the vaguest of smiles when he saw he was awake. 'You have completed the first part of the initiation. Come, share a meal with us before the next part begins.'

Though he wasn't sure he could keep anything down, Sheppard accepted the offer and staggered out into the daylight again, where a meal had been laid out on woven mats on the ground. The sun stung his eyes, so he shielded them and looked for the simplest food lying on the floor coverings, choosing some form of flat bread and picking at it while sipping from a bowl of water. Though his stomach flipped and flopped in protest, the bread stayed down and gave him some strength to face the rest of the trials ahead.

Without a word, a young male knelt beside him, setting down a bowl containing a dark liquid and taking hold of Sheppard's right arm, cutting off his wristband.

'Hey, back off!' Ronon barked, catching hold of the back of the boy's vest and yanking him away.

Untooka quickly interrupted the skirmish. 'Sheppard must be given the appropriate mark to ready him for the next test. Please, let the boy work.'

Ronon turned his gaze toward Sheppard and waited for his instruction. Though he really didn't like the look of the needle sitting in the bowl of inky liquid, the thought of taking a dip in the boiling lake made it look a hell of a lot more appealing. The colonel gave Ronon a nod and the big guy released the terrified youngster. The boy dropped to his knees again, re-establishing his grip in Sheppard's arm and beginning to prick deep into his skin until it bled. The black liquid was added to the wounds, staining the pattern and increasing the stinging sensation nagging at his already abraded skin. The only upside was that the tattoo was relatively small and neat, just some unidentifiable symbol as far as he was concerned, although it would probably prove to be the highest possible insult to some other society they were yet to come across, knowing his luck. Still, it would sit beneath the sweatband he usually wore if he couldn't get rid of it, so hopefully it would go unnoticed. At least if he could keep it covered most of the time it wouldn't have to be a constant reminder of this debacle...which was now officially the worst birthday party ever.

Once it was finished, Untooka announced that it was time to begin the next trial. Although he felt a little steadier on his feet, Sheppard wasn't entirely sure he was up to a challenge just yet. But, since he didn't have a choice, he figured he'd better suck it up and stop feeling so sorry for himself. His mom's voice echoed in his mind; _That's your father talking again. _Perhaps she _was_ staying close by, after all.

Untooka led them on a short journey into the surrounding jungle, where bugs as big as a fist buzzed them and rattled their eardrums. Not being the biggest fan of Pegasus bugs, Sheppard instinctively hunched his shoulders to protect as much of the exposed skin on his neck as he could. The last thing he needed was some damn great ugly tick latching on and sucking the life out of him right now, although it would be par for the course as far as this day was concerned.

They came to a standstill a few yards away from three particularly tall, straight tree trunks. The lower few feet of them were entrenched in mounds of dirt. But there was an order to that earth, a design. They were some kind of nests. This was starting to look bad...

'These are the killaba trees, providers of food and shelter to the mascala. You must climb one and remain within its branches for the duration of the ceremonial song during which time the mascala will imbue you with their venom to make you a strong warrior, worthy of the role of protector of my daughter.'

Rodney had sauntered his way over to the trees and was peering down at the insect mounds. 'They look kinda like...ow!' He slapped at his shin and scurried back to his friends. 'Fire ants. Bite like 'em, too. Great, now I'm gonna swell up like a balloon.'

Sheppard just gave him a sour look, his brow puckering. 'Thanks for that, McKay. Now you made 'em angry.'

'I think they were pretty pissed anyway,' he said defensively, rubbing at his leg. 'At least that one was.'

'Are you ready to begin, Sheppard?'

Was he ready to climb the smoothest, straightest tree he'd ever seen, and, if he actually even managed to reach the branches, sit there so the local insect population could all take a piece out of his ass? Hell no. He was beginning to think he might be on candid camera, with all his worst fears coming to life. He didn't do marriage, self-examination or bugs, yet so far he'd been forced to agree to them all. All he needed now was for a car full of clowns to roll up and start performing, and this nightmare would be complete. Despite that fact, he gave a nod, and a single loud beat rang out from behind him. He and his team all turned to find the whole village population now gathered behind them. Damn, they were stealthy.

With a sigh, he puffed out his chest in a show of mock bravado and headed for the middle tree. If he shinnied up quickly enough, hopefully those little bastards wouldn't think it was worth the effort of following him. He set one foot on the insect mound at its base and boosted himself up, wrapping his arms around its girth and gripping on tight with his knees and boots as he began his ascent. He doubted the sight of his backside wriggling its way up that bole was the most elegant or skilful movement his team or these tribal folk had ever seen, but it worked, and for a short time the mascala didn't bother him either – approximately three minutes to be precise. Then, taking great offence at the fact his military issue boot had just crushed the top levels of their carefully crafted fortress, they came after him with a vengeance.

Resisting the urge to swipe them away for fear of losing his tenuous grip on the smooth trunk, all Sheppard could do was grit his teeth and bear it as he continued to climb to the lower most branches that were stretched out a good forty feet above the ground. All the time he could hear the steady thump-thumping of the tribal drum, as if he was a variety act and it was sounding out some kind of weird, slow-motion drum-roll.

Closing his eyes, he took a moment to catch the breath he'd been holding to ward off his protests. He got the feeling screaming like a girl wasn't going to win him many fans since he was trying to prove himself worthy of the chief's jailbait daughter's hand. A horrible thought suddenly struck him as he clung to that tree, one that almost made that small amount of sustenance he'd ingested revisit right there and then. What if part of this initiation involved some kind of...intimacy with the girl – to prove he could perform? Crap! There was no way...no way he would do that. If it came to that he guessed he was in for one of the shortest and hottest baths of his life.

_Stay positive, John,_ he ordered himself. _It might not come to that._

That brief moment of panic had made him forget all about the mascala bites, but only for a moment. Now the stinging returned far worse than it had been before he'd had his nauseating daydream, and he realised with a certain amount of disgust that the tiny little buggers were now crawling all over him, and they sure as hell had no respect for any part of his anatomy. Double crap!

He started climbing again, this time a little faster. The steady beat accompanying him didn't sound much like a ritualistic number, so he figured it was just some kind of musical interlude to keep the audience amused until he got to the branches. _You really should work on your repertoire, pal,_ _'cos that's getting kinda tedious if you ask me._ But no one _was_ asking him, of course. All they needed him to do was climb up that tree and get bitten.

In his hurry to get the task over with, Sheppard lost his grip and slipped a few feet, thankfully catching himself before he fell too far.

'Sheppard!' he heard Ronon bellow from beneath him. He looked down to find the Satedan had already covered the ground between him and the tree and was waiting to break his fall.

'I'm okay, buddy,' he called down, _except for the friction burns and the several hundred bug bites._ But his sweaty palms didn't convince him of that. Hooking one arm at a time around the tree, he wiped them dry on his trousers and started again, this time not stopping until he reached the relative security of the outstretched and leafy branches...which would have been comforting if they weren't covered in thorns – a discovery he only made when grabbing hold of one to haul himself up. Oh, now Pegasus was just messing with his head, pure and simple! Why didn't a bird just crap on his crowning glory and have done with it? When something stirred in the foliage above him he threw it a death glare, just daring it to even try fulfilling that thought. Whatever it was got the message and swiftly departed.

Dragging himself up while breaking away what spines he could see, the final insult came when he managed to park himself straight on one. _So the bites aren't enough?_ he silently asked no one in particular, picking out the spike and rubbing the puncture mark until the pain subsided.

Below, the drums began something more resembling a tune. He hoped the Bratalans preferred their equivalents of etudes to symphonies and this would all soon be over. The original stinging sensations from the bites each slowly developed into an agonising, throbbing, burning numbness that seemed to pound in time with the rhythm. The bites were tiny, but had to number in the hundreds now, so the cumulative effect felt like he'd been thumped with a baseball bat over just about every inch of his body. The only comfort he could draw from it as the beats from the drums continued was that the recovery from bites would be much quicker than that of a pummelling...as long as they really weren't _too_ venomous.

He sat perfectly still, gripping the branch he was perched on so hard that his nails dug into the bark. Reducing his movements did lessen the attacks from the tiny brutes, and he lost himself in thought to try to block out any further injuries until the drums fell silent again. As he sat there, watching the bugs crawl all over his dangling legs, he remembered birthdays in years gone by, before his time in Atlantis, realising it wasn't only Pegasus that had it in for him on his special day.

The event had caused arguments between him and his brother and father on numerous occasions, although that was usually down to the fact he wouldn't show up for the society parties his father arranged, trying to set him up with some charming and vacuous socialite no doubt, preferring instead to go out on drinking binges with his buddies. His dad seemed to think he needed help with women, having no idea just how many offers he'd accepted, and declined for that matter. Oh, he'd had no shortage of willing girls trailing after him like obedient puppies in his younger days – but the fact they were well aware of the money his father had made him mistrustful of their true motivation. So he'd used them and moved on. Nancy had been the only woman he truly felt loved him for who he was, but his birthday had even screwed them up in the end. Their final argument had arisen from the fact she'd planned a meal and a weekend away for them both to celebrate it, and he'd gone on a mission, leaving only a hastily scribbled note with a brisk apology that hadn't quite measured up to her expectations. Well, when he got back to Atlantis, he planned to follow the example of his youth and get completely bombed. It was the only sensible way to finish off a birthday this bad.

The drumming suddenly built to a crescendo and then ended. He waited, half-expecting them to strike up again, but they didn't. He moved his gaze to the gathered audience, barely flinching as the mascala continued to let him know how they felt about his invasion of their territory.

Untooka strode forward and looked up to where he sat. 'John Sheppard,' he called to him. 'You have completed the second rite. You are now imbued with the strength and tenacity of the mascala. Climb down to prepare for the final test.'

Sheppard didn't have to be asked twice. He levered himself off the branch, gained what little purchase he could with his boots, then started to shin his way back down to ground level. It was going well until his sticky palms betrayed him again and his hands slipped. At only half way down, that left him with around twenty feet to plummet, his fall then broken by the mascala mound beneath him. He remained there in an undignified heap for a moment or two while his brain caught up with the speed of his descent, then the angry surge of mascala clambering all over his body reminded him he needed to get moving.

Brushing off the furious minibeasts, he rejoined the group for the walk back to the village, his bruised rear and ego adding to the general sense of misery threatening to overwhelm him.

'So,' McKay blurted out, trotting to catch up with Untooka. 'Just one test left then, huh? So we'll be back in Atlantis before the day's out?'

The chief gave him an odd look. 'You three are free to leave at any time. Sheppard must remain with us now...if he completes the final trial.'

'What? You never said anything about that.'

McKay glanced back at Sheppard, looking utterly mortified, but Sheppard didn't feel any kind of surprise. His remaining there had been implicit in the fact they were initiating him to the tribe. He doubted that was a day-pass handed out to passers-through. The trouble was the others were never going to leave unless he did. He could already see the grim determination burning in Ronon's eyes as he walked at his side.

'Now don't go doing anything stupid, Chewie,' he ordered, keeping his voice low. 'We'll bide our time, and we'll all get out of this in one piece...including the Bratalans. Okay?'

Ronon grunted something incomprehensible, but it had a general tone of agreement about it so Sheppard felt happy he was on board with the plan. Teyla, at his other side gave a single nod of approval. This could still end well, at least relatively well if you ignored the various scrapes, bruises, bites and the lingering after effects of the hallucinogenic he was currently experiencing.

Rodney was swiftly heading toward one of his hissy fits, but Sheppard threw him a look that told him to shut up and play ball, and for once the man seemed to grasp the need to stay calm. These people were easily offended; if Rodney was sensible, he'd keep his mouth shut until they were out of there, or he might be the next one to find himself in imminent danger of being lobsterised for his misdemeanours.

* * *

**A/N: Once again, thanks for all your comments; they keep me inspired to write. And thanks also to all those putting my story on alert. I hope you continue to follow it. :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

Back at the village, Sheppard and his team found more food waiting for them, which Rodney tucked into with great vigour. Being nervous made him hungry, that much the rest of the team knew only too well, having heard his 'hypoglycaemia' rant on more occasions than they cared to remember. While he was eating he couldn't complain about how long it had been since he'd last eaten, so they let his fill his mouth without complaint.

Sheppard sat beside him, watching him force food in so quickly he suspected he might be crossed with a snake, his jaw seemingly expanding to take in food much greater in volume than his throat should have been able to swallow. He briefly visualised the scientist trying to swallow a baby hippo, just like he'd seen a particularly huge snake do in a video on YouTube once, then wondered if the drugs were still having more of an effect on him than he'd realised. He hoped so, either that or the pressure was getting to him.

Ronon, too, ate well, but Sheppard suspected his motivation was very different. The Satedan was picking obvious energy foods, preparing his body in case they had to fight their way out of the village. Teyla was her usual inscrutable self and ate calmly, her demeanour giving away nothing of her discomfort with the situation. Teyla was good at that kind of thing. Calm and serene one moment, she could be taking your head off with a Bantos stick in the next. He suddenly found himself wondering if she would make a good poker partner...he'd definitely want her on his side, that was for sure.

For his own part, Sheppard stuck to sipping water and picking at bread again. It was doughy and tasted slightly sour, but it took the edge off his hunger. Lifting the bowl was tricky since there was barely an inch of his skin that didn't hurt or itch, and he wished he didn't feel so thirsty so he didn't have to keep drinking.

Beside him, Rodney stopped picking up food long enough to begin swallowing what was in his mouth, hitching up his trouser leg and exposing his pale, fleshy calf. 'Oh would you look at that!' he grouched, spitting crumbs and rubbing at the small lump on his leg. 'I think it may be getting infected.'

Sheppard frowned over at him, wondering if that was meant as some kind of sick joke, but realising it was just yet another of Rodney's inappropriate reactions to a situation, which seemed to increase in proportion with his nervousness. 'Oh, man. That must really sting,' he drawled, not taking his eyes off him.

'Like you wouldn't belie –' Rodney stopped and flicked his gaze up to Sheppard's. 'Oh...right.' He let his trouser leg slide back down and started eating again.

'So, what's the final trial, Untooka?' Sheppard finally built up the courage to ask. Thoughts of unspeakable acts had been racing through his head since he'd made his escape from the mascala and he really needed to put himself out of his misery.

'You have to prove you are at one with nature, that you can harness its speed and strength and bend it to your will.'

The man's deep brown eyes looked wistful as he thought about the task ahead of them. The description hadn't given Sheppard much of a clue and he was about to ask for more details when Teyla stepped in and did just that.

'And just what will that trial entail,' she asked, looking genuinely enthralled.

'In a while, the harama herd will pass close by on the plains. To prove his worth, Sheppard must harness one and bring it under his control. They are tempestuous beasts, but to be my daughter's partner, he must find a way to tame it.'

What none of his friends knew was that as a younger man, Sheppard had helped break spirited horses on his father's ranch. Dave had been too chicken to have a go, declaring it "fool's work", but the task had fed Sheppard's almost incessant need for thrills. So, if the haramas were something like horses, he was set. _If _they were something like horses.

'How long do we have?' he asked, glancing at his watch. It read 1637 Atlantis time; if they could get off this messed up planet soon he might still get to drown his sorrows while it was his fortieth. That was, of course, if he could avoid a lengthy stay in the infirmary. So far, his injuries were minor, so a quick once over, something to sooth the bites, and he'd be good to go. Although some of them were beginning to swell rather alarmingly...

The natives kept them entertained in the interim with music and dance. Evidently, they were feeling a hell of a lot more energetic than he was, because they kept the pace up for hours, while Sheppard had yet more ceremonial paint applied and tried his best to avoid catching the eye of the chief's daughter, Akala, who had now shown up and was smiling at him from the other side of the grass mats. Apparently, kids grew up pretty quick in these parts. He'd never willed the sun to go down so quickly, but its journey over the Bratalan sky seemed to take an age.

Once he was as thoroughly caked in thick, bite-irritating paint as the tribes folk deemed he needed to be, they backed off, and Ronon lost no time in scooting to his side. 'If we're heading up to the plains, that'll take us near the jumper,' he whispered in that theatrical way people do when surrounded by noise.

Sheppard nodded, keeping his eyes on Chief Untooka the whole time. 'I know. I want you guys to head for it the first chance you get to slip away unnoticed. Hopefully, everyone'll be too busy watching me to care what you're up to.'

'I'm not leaving you here, Sheppard,' his friend told him firmly.

'I'm hoping you don't have to,' Sheppard assured him. 'The first chance I get to follow you, I'll be there.'

Across the mats, Akala gave him another warm smile. The one he shot her in return was more based in pain and embarrassment than any kind of affection, though he did feel bad about the fact he was soon going to do a runner on her. He'd heard a lot of men freaked out about turning forty, got themselves flash cars and younger trophy girlfriends to make up for what they deemed to be dwindling masculinity, but he figured most of them would draw the line at a twelve-year-old. Normal as it might be for the good folk of Bratala, the very thought of making nice with Akala made him want to barf all over again.

Across the village, they heard the familiar boom of Ronon's gun, and suddenly everyone was up on their feet and running...including them. It turned out to be a group of over-zealous young males trying out the weapons they'd confiscated. Ronon's lips drew back in a snarl, and Sheppard could feel how badly he wanted to take his gun back. That weapon had helped him survive seven years on the run from the Wraith; it was more than just a weapon to him – it was a friend.

'Let it go, Ronon. This isn't worth getting in trouble for,' Sheppard warned him.

'I want it back,' the Satedan growled. 'I need it.'

'I know...but now isn't the time.'

He watched his friend curl and uncurl his fingers into fists, then finally he relaxed his stance and Sheppard felt able to breathe easy again. He was still hoping everyone was going to come out of this situation pretty much unscathed, himself excluded of course, but he needed everyone to keep their cool if that was going to happen.

'Ronon, let Teyla know the plan and make sure Rodney gets on board the jumper...you may need him to fly it if I can't make it.'

'We're not –'

'Yeah, yeah, I know, you're not leaving without me. But you might have to, Ronon. Not that I'm saying I don't expect you to come back with reinforcements to get me the hell out of here later.'

Ronon finally gave him his agreement. 'You can count on it.'

A hand gently touched Sheppard's arm, though not gently enough to prevent him wincing from the contact. He turned to find Teyla behind him, her face grave with concern. 'Are you sure you wish to go ahead with this challenge, John? I am sure now we know where the weapons are we could reclaim them and convince them to release you.'

'No, Teyla. It's not going down that way. This is my fault, and I'm going to make sure no one else pays for it. We're not taking any unnecessary risks with anyone else's lives.'

'But after what you have already been through, I am not sure you are ready to attempt to tame the harama,' she told him, trying to make him see her viewpoint.

'If the young men of this village have to go through this process, I'm pretty sure I'll manage,' he assured her, his cockiness annoying even her.

She frowned her disapproval of his over confidence. 'If you had taken the time to talk to some of the villagers as I have, you would know the initiation usually takes place over several days. It seems Untooka would prefer you to fail.'

So the chief did care about his daughter's future, after all? Much as the fact he'd duped him annoyed Sheppard, he had to admire the man's attempt to defend his daughter's honour from the "outsider".

'Okay...that might make a difference,' he admitted. 'But I still say we go ahead with the plan. The jumper's up on the plains. If we can get close enough to it, I might be able to create enough of a distraction for us to be able to slip away without any trouble.'

'But that still leaves you facing the harama...'

He laid a hand on her shoulder and she stopped protesting instantly. 'I'll be fine,' he told her, and that was his final word on the matter. She seemed to understand that, giving him a nod although she didn't look too happy.

The light was fading now, the sun sinking toward the horizon in a blaze of orange glory. The harama would soon be heading their way, and when Sheppard looked around for Untooka he found him striding toward him.

'We should head to the plains so we do not miss the haramas' passing,' he told Sheppard and his team.

'Yeah, 'cos we wouldn't want that to happen,' McKay muttered, giving the man the evil eye. 'Is it just me or does anyone else think that man's enjoying this just a little too much.'

He was...there was no denying that. Untooka wore a definite smirk, unlike his daughter, whose smile had transformed into an anxious frown. Something told Sheppard this trial wasn't going to be as straightforward as he was hoping.

They began the trek to the plains under a blood-red hue, a possible omen of what was to come, he supposed, then cursed himself for being so melodramatic. Untooka led from the front, his four sons just two paces behind him and maintaining that respectful distance for the whole journey. Sheppard and his team were next in line, and behind them came the rest of the village, Untooka's daughter and his two wives first, then everyone else following in a haphazard group behind them.

The plains stretched out for miles when they reached them, a vast expanse of grasslands as far as the eye could see. The team came to a standstill as Untooka did, looking around for clues as to just where they might have left their transport. Without their equipment, they had to rely on memory and their inbuilt sense of direction, which pretty much meant Ronon and Teyla, although Sheppard had a fair idea of the direction they would need to head in.

'And now we wait,' the chief announced, looking toward the horizon, his chin held high.

He looked impressive highlighted as he was by the golden burnish of the setting sun, a huge, noble man whose life was steeped in these traditions. Sheppard wasn't sure whether to dare question the man's instruction, but knew they needed to get closer to where they'd left the jumper to stand any chance of effecting an escape – and escape they would have to if he ever wanted to leave this tribe.

He took a couple of steps forward, still remaining behind Untooka and his sons, but close enough to be heard by the chief when he spoke to him. 'Untooka, perhaps we could keep moving until the harama show up?' he suggested, the chief turning to face him with a puzzled expression.

'We have no way of knowing when they will show, only that they will come from the east. It makes more sense to wait.'

Despite the rebuttal, Sheppard pressed again. 'I'm not good at waiting...I prefer to keep busy. Maybe we could head east and meet them en route.'

Again, Untooka looked puzzled, as if he couldn't imagine why someone would actually want to head into the challenge any sooner than it would naturally arrive. 'Well, most men prefer to wait and conserve their strength...but there is nothing in the traditions that forbids meeting the harama head on. You may proceed.'

Glancing around at his team and offering them a brief but victorious smile, Sheppard strode out in front, even though every step made his sore skin smart all the more. After a few seconds, Ronon joined him, walking shoulder to shoulder with Sheppard and rasping slight variations in direction based on all but invisible clues he spotted in the seemingly eternal grassland.

Suddenly, he ordered a change that seemed to go against the way they had been headed completely. Sheppard suspected that meant something, and he was right.

'Around two hundred paces north east,' Ronon told him. I can see the flattened grass. We should lead the villagers away so they don't spot it.'

Sheppard nodded, happy they were now close enough to make a break for it in what he hoped would be the ensuing chaos of dozens of horse-like creatures racing through.

He headed west a little way, then stopped, his team all beside him.

Untooka stood back and folded his arms over his broad chest. 'You have decided to wait here?' he asked.

Sheppard nodded. 'Yeah...legs are getting a little achy now.'

A sound carried to them on the air, a rumble reminiscent of distant thunder. That was all they needed. As if this escape wasn't going to be tricky enough as it was.

'Storm coming?' Sheppard asked the chief.

'No...the harama. It sounds like you won't have long to wait.'

Sheppard returned his gaze to the eastern most horizon, seeing minimal movement there now. 'Cool,' he muttered. 'Maybe my people could go wait over that way...where it's safer?'

He gestured in the direction the jumper lay in, but Untooka huffed out a laugh. 'It's hard to judge where is safe when the harama come through. But if you insist, they may wait over there.'

Teyla and Rodney followed Sheppard's instruction, but Ronon only moved vaguely in that direction, still hovering near the villagers. Sheppard spotted the youth carrying Ronon's gun was standing pretty close to Ronon's position. It seemed the Satedan wasn't prepared to let his gun go just yet. He wanted to tell him to give it up, but he couldn't communicate that thought without getting Ronon in trouble. So, he held his tongue, and hoped Ronon knew what he was doing.

Teyla stood poised, ready to run. The villagers would not suspect anything from that because most of them looked equally ready to bolt for their lives. McKay just clung close to Teyla's side looking pale and worried. Moving at speed wasn't really his thing, but Sheppard trusted Teyla to get him to safety.

One of the villagers stepped forward, holding a loop of rope dangling from his outstretched hands. Glad they were giving him at least that much assistance, Sheppard took it from him with a grateful dip of the head and set to work with it.

The rumble in the distance grew steadily louder. Sheppard kept one eye on the animals approaching and another on his rope. Around him, he sensed rather than saw the villagers begin to retreat, putting themselves at a safer distance.

Suddenly, Rodney's acerbic tones broke his concentration. 'Sheppard, I don't know if you've noticed, but everyone else is getting out of the path of those things.'

'I know,' Sheppard replied, still working on a knot in the rope.

'What are you doing?' the scientist demanded.

'Making a lasso.'

'A wha –? Are you kidding? Would this be a good point to remind you your name is John Sheppard not John Wayne?'

Sheppard just shot him a look and then got back to his lasso. Rodney knew very little about his past, not many people did, so he supposed the fact he could tie a lasso and break horses would probably come as a surprise to them. But he didn't have time to elucidate now. The reminiscing would have to wait.

The rumble was growing uncomfortably loud now, the ground trembling under his feet. Sheppard finished the loop and checked out his targets again, seeing them now in their full glory.

They didn't look like horses, not unless several of them had been melted together to make a huge, dense lump of ground shaking horse that had subsequently been smacked with the ugly stick – more than once. Added to that, the four huge buffalo style horns protruding from their skulls loaned them an almost satanic quality. That and the incandescent red glow of their vibrant russet coats.

'Oh, crap!' he breathed, backing up a few paces before remembering his choices. This or boiling alive. Okay, suddenly the harama didn't look quite so hideous. Maybe he _could _do this.

'Get to safety!' he yelled to his team, but rather predictably, Ronon still loitered within arm's reach of his gun. Teyla, however, took hold of Rodney's tac-vest and tugged him forcefully in the direction of the jumper.

With his heart now trying to punch a hole through his ribs, Sheppard called back to Untooka, 'So, this is a regular part of the initiation...right?'

'Yes. Every young man in our village undergoes this test.'

His voice was quieter than expected, and when he turned to locate the chief, Sheppard found him a substantial distance away and still retreating. That couldn't be good.

'Is there a high success rate?'

'Around half of our men succeed. The initiations help to keep our numbers low and deter the Wraith from culling.'

That one wasn't even a double crap...that had to rate as a triple crap and then some. It was time to get a grip; at the speed those animals were moving, they would reach him in around one more minute. He had to time it perfectly or he would be joining the fifty percent failures statistic.

To his right, he could see Ronon tensing ready for flight, but still glued to the young Bratalan man's side. He meant to get his gun back, and right now that seemed like the best idea anyone had had all day.

And then the harama were there and the Bratalans were fleeing in all directions, screaming or shouting in varying degrees of taunting or fear. Sheppard threw himself aside to miss the first wave, then rolled back to his feet, picked a target still approaching him and began to spin the rope above his head, judging, watching, waiting...then he let it fly.

After that, things got pretty blurry. The sensation of flying, a face full off grass and dirt, and then bouncing along the ground staring at the back end of a harama. And he'd thought the front end was butt ugly. At least the grass whipping against his face was helping him to forget about the bites...

Once he got his breath back he began to pull himself gradually along the rope, the harama it hung from veering and turning to the left as the strain on the rope steered it that way. At least that was back in the general direction of the jumper...as well as the rest of the village and his team. He quickly hauled himself up the rest of the length, grabbing hold of some fleshy scruff on the back of the creature's course neck to give himself the leverage to swing himself onto its back.

The Bratalans scattered like pins in a bowling alley, darting away without the need for brute contact, while smacking into one another in their haste to escape the haramas' path. Suddenly, Ronon was running alongside him, as fast as he could, taking aim with his gun. Looked like he'd taken advantage of the chaos to grab it back. He blasted the beast, but although it faltered, it just kept right on running.

'Get into the jumper!' Sheppard yelled to him, hoping that for once Ronon would follow an order.

'Not without you.'

Typical. No one could ever doubt Ronon's loyalty, but sometimes Ronon was just a little too...Ronon for his own good.

The harama suddenly decided bucking was a good choice of moves to rid itself of its cling-on, sending Sheppard spilling forwards over its head as it turned from the course Sheppard had set it on and away from the jumper. Despite the fact he scraped the full length of his left inner forearm on one of the horns, he doggedly retained his grip on the rope, swinging now against the huge beast's chest and getting kicked good and hard in the process. He couldn't let go now or he would fall under its huge hooves. Though he was used to getting his ass kicked in the gym with Ronon and Teyla, this put an entirely new spin on the term. One firm knee into his rear end sent him upwards, and he took advantage of the boost, throwing one arm over the harama's neck and hauling himself up onto its back. He practically had to do the splits to straddle the breadth of it, and he didn't feel entirely secure even then, sliding around like a kid on a Bucking Bronco ride. The colonel yanked the rope to the left, steering the maddened creature back the way it had come and back toward where Ronon had halted near their craft and was now levelling his weapon.

Ronon shot the creature again, but his weapon was having little effect. Sheppard knew he was going to have bruises where bruises had no rights to be after this rough ride, but he clung on, seeing the flattened area of grass ahead that signalled the jumper's resting spot.

Just a little further.

Ronon fired one last time, then disappeared into the cloaked ship, no doubt looking for something else he could hit the harama with. Sheppard was just trying to figure out how to get the animal to slow down so he could dismount and get on board when the beast veered and bucked at the same time, flinging him free and straight through the waiting hatch of the jumper. His roll came to a sudden end when he hit one of the rear benches, but he didn't care. He already hurt too much for it to make much difference anyway.

'Get us out of here, Rodney,' he yelled, feeling pain in his shoulder from the impact and knowing he wasn't capable of doing it himself.

McKay's face dropped, but he did as he was told, raising the rear hatch and taking them up in a shaky incline toward the safety of the Stargate.

Teyla and Ronon helped Sheppard up off the floor. 'That was some serious riding,' the Satedan grinned, slapping a meaty hand on his back, and setting dozens of bites stinging.

Sheppard suppressed a groan as he eased his bruised butt onto the padded seat. 'You think I passed the initiation?'

Ronon's grin widened. 'You weren't that good,' he told him, shuffling up to the cockpit to give Rodney grief about the bumpy flight.

Teyla opened a compartment above his head and pulled out the first aid kit. 'Well, other than yourself, we all got out unharmed...even the Bratalans. That was your wish, was it not?'

'Yeah...it was.' He managed a smile now, but it was short lived as Teyla began to swab his injured arm with iodine.

Still, as Pegasus birthdays went, this one had to be one of the liveliest for him personally. And he wasn't getting any younger. He wasn't sure he could take the pace of another one at all. As Teyla continued to tend to his wounds, he stretched out and lay down his head, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the cushioning, despite her ministrations.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

Miserable really didn't cover how Sheppard felt as he sat in the infirmary that evening. In fact, it was hard to conjure a word that could adequately express the mixture of pain, exhaustion and, embarrassment and disappointment he was doing his best to conceal. Marie was dabbing cortisone cream onto his mascala bites one at a time, and he was doing his best not to whimper as he was once again consumed by stinging and itching.

Dr Keller had already told him he should plan for an overnight stay, so there went his hopes of drinking out his fortieth. He'd assumed that was down to the whole harama bucking thing, which had left him with a dislocated shoulder and a severe laceration, but she'd told him the bites might yet prove problematic, too, and so had insisted on him spending the night in infirmary care and under observation.

Knowing she was just doing her job, he didn't mention the fact he was depriving him of the opportunity of finally celebrating his milestone. He supposed it could wait for another day when he was feeling less beat up and didn't resemble someone suffering from the plague. At least he hadn't been boiled alive, although he couldn't help being annoyed that they'd lost the opportunity to mine the naquadah on Bratala, as per the negotiated trade agreement. He figured that deal no longer stood since he'd rejected the opportunity to marry Untooka's lovely daughter. He shuddered at the thought again, then winced as Marie dabbed some cream on a particularly tender spot.

Sam turned up at that point. She did her utmost to keep a straight face, but she was fighting a losing battle, he could see that from the happy sparkle in her eyes. He supposed he did look pretty funny right now.

'Well, John, I have to say you've certainly outdone yourself this time. I'm guessing we'd have trouble finding one square inch of your body that isn't bitten, scraped or bruised.'

She didn't know how accurate that was. He'd answered the call of nature earlier, and those bugs certainly hadn't spared his blushes.

He watched her struggling not to smile, and much as he wanted to protest at her continuing amusement, he felt far too contrite about wrecking the trade deal to complain. 'Look, I'm sorry about what happened on Bratala. I know how useful that naquadah would have been.'

'No apologies necessary,' she insisted, hands clasped in front of her as she watched Marie work. 'Sounds to me like you were just being your usual friendly self. You weren't to know that kind of thing could cause offence.'

True enough, not that it made the fact he'd been the one to spoil the deal any easier to bear.

Apparently seeing his doubt, she added, 'C'mon, John. If I'd been there I'd have done exactly the same thing.'

'But you're a woman, so that would have been okay,' he pointed out. 'I'm really gonna have to be more careful.'

'Hindsight is a wonderful thing,' she sighed, rocking back on her heels, 'but I doubt anyone would have _foreseen _that situation arising. Anyway, there are three people waiting outside when Marie's finished up here. I know they're pretty keen to see you.'

'I'm all done,' Marie announced to his great relief.

'Okay. I'll just have a word with Jennifer and then I'll send them in...if that's okay?'

He nodded, swinging his legs up onto his bed and leaning back against the pillows, pulling up the sheets to cover most of his exposed flesh. Rodney always looked a little green around the gills if he could see too many injuries, and he had no desire to set him off tonight.

Sam hovered just in view talking to Dr Keller. Occasionally, they would glance over his way and smile, and he wondered if they were laughing at his expense. He did look and feel pretty silly, covered as he was in red lumps and various scrapes, and his day had been one long example of bad luck gone mad, after all. Eventually, Jennifer gave a nod and the two women separated, Jennifer heading back toward her office, and Sam no doubt heading to tell his friends he was ready to receive visitors. He kind of hoped they wouldn't stay long. He was tired and sore and he just wanted to fall asleep so this damn awful day could be over with once and for all.

He'd already started to drift off in the few minutes it took for his team to arrive at his bedside. McKay cleared his throat loudly, waking him up again, and he found each of them standing beside him with impish smiles on their faces.

'What are you all looking so pleased about?' he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose and blinking his eyes into focus.

'Just glad to see you looking...better?' Rodney beamed at him, bouncing a little. He was keeping a secret he was literally bursting to share. McKay was never good at hiding things from him. Definitely not someone to pick as a poker partner.

'I look like crap.' Sheppard noticed they all had their hands behind their backs, not a natural stance for any of them. He strained his neck to try to peer behind Teyla, who was standing closest to him. She gracefully shifted position to ensure his view remained obscured.

'How are you feeling now, John?' she asked in her usual soothing tones.

'I'm...' he resisted saying good, because that clearly wasn't true. '...sore, and kinda itchy.'

'Not surprising! Only you could get yourself into that kind of trouble after a successful trading negotiation,' Rodney snorted. 'Why are you always the one to get yourself in a mess?'

Feeling a little aggrieved now, Sheppard's answer was rather more acidic than he'd intended it to be. 'Because I'm the team leader, Rodney. I make the mistakes so you guys don't have to.'

'You did nothing wrong, John,' Teyla assured him. 'You merely tried to put Akala at her ease. How could anyone have known what that would lead to?'

'So people keep telling me,' he muttered, sliding down in his bed and pulling up the blanket a little higher. Even though he knew they were right, it didn't stop him feeling stupid. Perhaps it was time to stop being so trusting and positive and start viewing the universe with Rodney's cynical eye.

'She's right,' Ronon rumbled in support. 'You weren't to know what a bunch of crazies those guys were.'

Teyla rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a heartfelt sigh. Clearly that hadn't quite been the sentiment she'd intended to impart, but Sheppard understood that already. People just had different cultures in various parts of the Pegasus Galaxy, just as they did in different countries all over Earth. This wasn't just a Pegasus thing; he could get himself into just as much trouble back home if he ever wanted to.

'Thanks, buddy,' Sheppard replied, giving Teyla an understanding glance. That seemed to appease them both. He'd learned the fine art of pleasing the very different members of his team long ago and it came naturally to him now. If only all interplanetary relations came as easily.

The trio beside his bed were still smiling as if they were enjoying some shared joke he wasn't part of. He eyed them, one at a time, then said, 'C'mon, you guys. You're obviously up to something so just put me out of my misery and we'll call it a night.'

They looked at each other, their smiles broadening, then Teyla announced. 'Very well. Should I begin?'

Her partners in crime nodded their agreement, and she deftly manoeuvred a box from behind her back, careful not to tip it as she set it on his outstretched legs.

'I imagine you thought we had forgotten in all the excitement of the day,' she explained, lifting the lid off the box to reveal a cake lying within. 'Happy Fortieth Birthday.' Stabbing four candles into the chocolate icing, one for each decade as she told him, she lit them with her firelighter and told him to make a wish. He blew them out, feeling a little foolish, but the wish he made was sincere enough. He hoped to survive another birthday in this perilous galaxy.

'I had help making it, of course. I am not familiar with the methods of "baking", but I'm told it will be delicious. Oh, and I also brought you this,' she added, delving into her pocket and then handing him a sweatband. 'I thought you might like to cover your Bratalan tattoo.'

Did he ever, and as soon as he was fit he was going to ask Keller about getting rid of the damn thing all together. He really did suspect that if he kept it, some other planet's inhabitants would see it as a bad omen and shoot him where he stood.

Since his left arm was currently in a sling to support his shoulder, Teyla set the cake down and helped him slip it on. It felt good to have it on his wrist, a sign things were finally returning to normal. 'Thanks, Teyla. This is all...great!'

Teyla lifted up the cake and set it on the stand beside his bed, then stepped back to allow the others to approach. Sheppard shifted his attention to Rodney, who was smiling so hard he thought his head might pop. 'You have something you'd like to share, Rodney?' he enquired.

McKay bounced some more, then casually tossed a comic book wrapped in a pristine plastic covering onto his thighs. Sheppard winced but the shock of what he was seeing stopped him from voicing his pain.

It was a Superman comic, issue 234, proudly bearing its 15 cents price tag. 'It's not one of the more expensive ones I own, but I've seen you eying it a few times and...well...it _is_ a special birthday.'

'I...I don't know what to say...' Sheppard stammered, picking it up with his free hand and admiring the cover.

'Well...I usually find that 'Thank you' goes a long way in these kinds of situations,' McKay offered, giving him a lop-sided smile.

Sheppard met his gaze and held it earnestly. 'Thank you, Rodney...really...thanks.'

'You're welcome. I figure you've saved my ass enough times to have earned that one.'

Finally, it was Ronon's turn. The Satedan stared at Sheppard, his eyes crinkled in amusement. 'Happy Birthday. I understand turning forty is a big thing where you come from.'

'Well, I wasn't gonna make a fuss...'

Ronon drew his gun and spun it on his index finger in several skilled twists before wrapping his palm around the broad barrel. 'One week.'

Sheppard frowned at his friend, wondering what he was talking about. Was that some kind of threat? Had the big guy gone all Logan's Run on him and decided his time was up? He checked his palm to make sure he didn't have a red crystal there. All clear. 'One week until what?' he asked.

Shooting him a puzzled look, Ronon clarified his offer. 'That's how long you get to own my gun...except if some emergency arises and I need it. Your time starts when you're back on your feet.'

Sheppard looked at the gun clutched in the thick fingers of his friend's right hand. He'd coveted that weapon for so long he could barely believe the Satedan would hand it over, not even temporarily, especially knowing how much it meant to him. It suddenly occurred to the colonel that this might actually have been the reason why Ronon was so desperate to get the gun back from the Bratalans. 'Man...I...I'm speechless...again.'

'You're welcome.'

McKay looked backward and forward between the two of them so fast Sheppard genuinely feared his head might come loose. 'Wait a minute...I didn't know we could just loan him things...'

'Don't spoil it, Rodney,' Sheppard almost begged, tightening his grip on the comic.

Rodney's eyes remained glued to it for a few seconds more, his shoulders tensed, then he relaxed and let it wash over him. 'No...you know what? It's fine. You keep it. I can probably pick up another some time.'

'Maybe I'll give it you back for your fortieth,' Sheppard offered.

'Really?' The thought seemed to please the scientist, and Sheppard figured he might just about manage to do that.

'Oh, and one more thing,' Teyla announced, casting a playful look Ronon's way.

The Satedan revealed what he carried in his left hand, which he had kept behind his back the whole time – a six-pack of Bud.

'We thought we'd help you celebrate in style. Sam got clearance from Jennifer, so long as we limit you to one otherwise the meds you're on for those bites will be rendered ineffective. Oh, and she said she's drop by later to wish you a happy birthday herself. She didn't want to spoil the surprise before,' Rodney told him, slipping a bottle opener from his top pocket.

He might only be allowed one beer, but at least they'd made that one really count. That was good enough for Sheppard. He had great presents, great beer, and great company...maybe this birthday wasn't such a dead loss after all.

After opening up four bottles and handing them out, Rodney made the toast. 'Here's to you on your fortieth...or perhaps we should be offering you congratulations on your engagement.'

'Cute,' Sheppard grunted as his friends all grinned back at him. 'Very cute.'

'Well, she was a sweet kid. Perhaps you could head back on your fiftieth and see if she's still available.'

'No...to both parts of that suggestion,' Sheppard told him firmly, swigging back some Bud. He closed his eyes to savour the taste. There was no better beer in the universe, he was sure of that.

'So, no chance of salvaging that trade deal, huh? Okay, I guess we could sneak back and steal the naquadah instead.'

Sheppard flashed him a warning look. 'Not funny.'

'I bet the IOA are considering it.'

Now that was a possibility. Bratala had naquadah it didn't need; they would undoubtedly find some way to justify it if they could.

'So...we having cake or what?' Rodney pestered, peering into the box at the chocolate delight Teyla had whipped up.

'You want me to serve it?' Ronon offered, sliding a particularly wicked looking blade from inside his boot.

Rodney turned green. 'You know what, maybe I'll pass.'

Laughing at them both, Teyla lifted the cake from the box to reveal a knife and several plates stowed beneath it. 'Do not worry, Rodney. We will use the knife I brought instead.'

'Huh...now that's more like it,' he grinned, rubbing his hands together with glee. 'I haven't eaten for hours.'

Even though this wasn't supposed to be about McKay, Sheppard let him take the first slice. As he looked back on the day, he supposed it was kind of funny how things had escalated, but he hoped Rodney's joke about the IOA was wrong. Whatever the outcome, he figured he had the perfect excuse not to go back to Bratala himself. And just to be sure his forty-first birthday went off without a hitch, he made a mental note to book the day off on leave with Carter when she dropped by later, then he slugged back the rest of his beer.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to leave reviews, they are much appreciated. I hope you all enjoyed the story, brief as it was. And to those of you who have followed the story this far without comment, let me know what you think. :D**


End file.
